


Celia!

by ConsultingCaffrey



Category: The Last Tycoon (TV)
Genre: And perhaps yours, Probably other characters - Freeform, This is purely for my own sanity, too lazy to tag them all - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-21 23:12:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11954691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConsultingCaffrey/pseuds/ConsultingCaffrey
Summary: Do you ever get that feeling? The one that makes you think someone might have called your name even though you didn't hear them?Because the season finale broke me and I had to fix myself. Here is what I came up with. Spoilers, obviously.





	Celia!

**Author's Note:**

> So I watched this show finally. I'm dead inside now. Thanks Amazon. Anyway, I refuse to leave that last episode the way it was so I literally wrote this immediately after I finished it. Hope you enjoy.

Celia left and my eyes followed her as she disappeared, closing my office door behind her. I had to hand it to the kid. She was good. Perhaps better than her father, although maybe the comparison was too uneven right now, considering my feelings for the man. That bastard.

The Oscar caught my eye and I turned to it, but only ended up looking past it, at that vase still sitting where it had been for years upon years. I couldn't see the cracks if I didn't look close enough. I never did that. But tonight, I picked it up, purposely looking for them. They were like thousands of tiny lines representing the fissures that had begun to grow between me and the people I had cared about the most. Now where were they?

Kathleen was a fraud, Pat was my enemy instead of my friend and partner, Rose was... happy. Minna was...

Those cracks mocked me and I tightened my grip on the damn thing, a tightness also growing in my chest as if in response. I used to have such control over my own emotions, and the emotions of others. What had happened to that? Why did everything feel like it was falling apart in my hands?

My hands... holding onto something I no longer wanted. I almost threw it, and I would have. I had already pulled my arm back, ready to send it flying across the room. One foot lunged forward to give momentum, but even though my arm went suddenly forward, my hand refused to let it go, and the vase stayed there.

The moment was gone just as quickly as it had come. I was just tired now. And no matter how much people had hurt me as of late, I couldn't take it out on Minna. Not her.

Slowly, I brought the vase back up to set it in its place on the shelf. That was when I took notice of the fact that I was breathing heavily, and I felt... strange. My head was fuzzy and felt like it weighed more than it had any right to. And my chest...

I winced, catching myself staggering. No. No, not now.

I managed to call out for Celia, and it was oddly hard to put as much urgency in my voice as I wanted to. I tried not to think about how far she'd even gotten. She may not have even heard me. She may already be gone.

Every thought flew from my head as a wave of dizziness made me stumble some more, and a horrible pain ripped through my chest, which made me hunch over myself, both hands clutching for my chest as if I could actually reach my own heart. As if somehow all it needed was a touch and everything would go away. Perhaps there was something to that, something poetic, but it escaped me for now.

I didn't even feel myself fall, but somehow I knew that's what was going to happen. 

Nobody would be there to catch me. I knew that too.

-)()(-

Do you ever get that feeling? The one that makes you think someone might have called your name even though you didn't hear them? It makes you stop and give pause, maybe you look around and try to determine if you'd imagined it or if...

I'm not sure what made me turn back to Monroe's office. I suppose I've always been a curious person, and if he had called me, perhaps it was important. If not, well, we've got some more banter in us, I think. I'd ask him if he had said something. He would look at me over his desk like he was concerned and reply, "No, I didn't."

A short time ago, I might have taken that fantasy much further, made it so we both ended up on that sofa in the room, our clothes discarded ("no more talk of your dress in a ball on the floor" Ha!). But not now. I had that Miner boy to think about. That Max. Even the thought of him made my chest swell with a feeling unlike any other. Monroe used to do that to me.

Upon turning the handle and opening the door to the office, I at first couldn't take in what was in front of me. It made no sense. Like someone (Lang) had blindfolded me again and I was only imagining the scene I was faced with. It couldn't be real.

Now I heard it clearly. I remembered the faint and desperate cry of my name. And now I could see the reason for it.

"Monroe!" I shouted his name in return and hurried over to him quickly.

He was lying face down on the floor, so still that it terrified me, turned my face a ghastly white, I could tell.

I was afraid to touch him, afraid that I would hurt him. It had to be his heart, didn't it? What else? Everyone had talked about this day, about how poor Monroe Stahr's engine would eventually sputter and die, taking him with it. But not today. Never tonight when things were changing so rapidly.

I placed a hand on his shoulder hesitantly, and I was shaking so badly that he shook too. "Monroe," I whispered, then got a hold of myself, twisting around and screaming for help. Somebody else had to be in the office. I thought I had seen Mary, or maybe Aubrey on the way in.

A noise snatched my attention and put it back on Monroe. His right hand slowly tightened into a fist, but didn't otherwise move from its position. He made another noise, like he couldn't breathe but he was damn determined to try. That was Monroe.

As gently as I could, I turned him over, ignoring the panic that welled up in my chest. My chest with its pounding heart that was at least as strong as it should be.

The sound he made at that was halfway between a gasp and a whimper, and I hastily told him I was sorry, so sorry. But help is on the way, I promise, Monroe, please don't go.

I wasn't sure if I was lying right then, but footsteps saved me from that. It was Aubrey, thank god.

"What the hell happened?" he asked, rushing into the room. He didn't wait for me to reply to that, and I couldn't give one anyway. Monroe had opened his eyes and was looking up at me, or trying to. His gaze wavered unsteadily.

Aubrey was on the phone behind Monroe's desk, snapping at someone on the other end of the line. Good old Aubrey.

I took Monroe's hand and smoothed out the fist he had made with it so that I could slip my fingers between his. "You're going to be alright," I said, but I sounded like I was begging.

Aubrey was there again, kneeling down next to me on the floor and I was so grateful he was there. I couldn't handle this on my own. I was already tearing up.

Monroe didn't take his eyes off me, but his lips moved in a breathy whisper, one I couldn't catch. I moved my face closer to his and waited. It came again.

I don't know what I expected. His fiance's name, mine, my father's, even my mother's. Perhaps a final playful cuss at Aubrey. What I got instead was "...sorry."

Sorry...

I didn't have long to ponder it because those warm blue eyes flickered and then slipped shut again slowly. The hand in mine relaxed and it was only me holding on now. I swore my heart stopped with his. "M-Monroe?" I about near sobbed.

Aubrey was all action, shrugging off his brown coat and muttering, "I don't think so. You still need to help Celia with her picture!" He leaned over Monroe, his hands on the man's chest as he pressed down once, twice, and once more. I felt my breath catch at each one, suddenly feeling sick.

"Monroe!" Aubrey barked demandingly. I flinched at the loudness of it, but then glanced quickly down at my hand where my grip was now being returned by a far shakier one, but it was there.

"Stop!" I gasped, my other hand going to Aubrey's forearm.

We could both see each faltering breath that Monroe took, but it was enough. He was alive, still with us. I was afraid to ask for how long. Nobody had the answer anyway.

Everything after that, cliche as it sounds, was a blur.

-)()(-

I had strange dreams.

A grand staircase loomed before me, sparkling with decorations, people wearing their best clothes. All colors of dresses. Champagne glasses clinked, cameras flashed, laughter echoed throughout the scene.

I didn't find it strange that there was blood on the floor, merely observed it as I stepped around, not wanting to get any on my shoes.

I was leaving, unsure of why, but knowing that that's what I had been intending to do all along. They wouldn't mind. I would be at another party. They could find me then.

As I walked into the next room, it was like a set, all empty save for Minna. As though I knew I'd find her here, I stepped forward slowly. I was afraid she would vanish again. But she didn't. Her eyes met mine, but she said nothing.

My chest hurt so much. Just seeing her, I was reminded that she was gone. I wanted to spend as much time with her as possible. Maybe she would come back if I could only convince her. That seemed logical. But as soon as I opened my mouth, all I heard was silence. I screamed her name, tried to make any noise, but there was nothing. She didn't seem overly concerned.

"Monroe."

"Not now, Celia."

Not now. Please. I just need more time.

The world became hazy. I thought I saw people I knew. There was Celia for sure. Why was she looking at me like that? Was she upset with me? What could I do to make it right?

Kathleen... The woman I was supposed to be engaged to. The one who had lied. For what? You're a damn good actress. 

Rose, you shouldn't be here.

Especially not since she had Pat with her. Bastard.

It hurt. But the pain pulled me up through layers of black oil and tar enough to realize I had been dreaming. I should wake up now. Something didn't feel right. Namely, my chest. Oh god, I remember. Why am I still here?

Awareness came with a touch. A hand brushing over mine. I was afraid to know whose it was, but then a voice started speaking, picking up from a stopping point I didn't realize had occurred.

"Anyway... I told him you'd like that. He'll be by soon enough."

Rose.

I tried to move, to let her know I was listening, but couldn't feel if I did or not. I didn't think so because she kept talking.

"You scared my husband, you know."

To hell with your husband, I would have said if I could. As far as I was concerned, Pat was no longer my business partner. Just a manipulative, stubborn old man who hurt the people around him, time and time again.

Rose, you know that better than anyone.

"You should have seen him."

No, I shouldn't have. I'm glad I didn't.

"He was crying."

...What?

"Yeah, I know," she said with the smallest of smiles in her voice, as if she had heard my reaction. "Always such a tough exterior until he feels guilty about something. You two were fighting. Bad this time, I know it. But he said he never meant to hurt you."

Bullshit.

"He blames himself for this, you know. He tells me these things. I'm like... like his priest in the confession booth."

That brought a funny image to my mind and reminded me of all my recent time spent in one of those. It had started with Dex and then everything had just kept piling on, weighing me down more and more.

I knew that wasn't fair. There had been good things mixed in there. But right now I just felt the aforementioned weight. Like a physical thing. It dragged me down and before I knew it, Rose's voice faded and I was left to dream again.

I don't know for how long. Time is irrelevant in a place like that. But I woke to silence.

This time, I took the time to pay attention to my body. It felt heavy and weak, but I somehow managed to crack my eyes open just enough to let in a sliver of light. Then more until I was staring up at a ceiling. Not a familiar one, not a particularly spectacular one, so I looked away and to the left. Not much there. A plain white wall.

But to the right...

I was a little caught off guard by the woman standing by the window, her eyes gazing out through it blankly while her mind seemed caught up in thought. 

My mouth was dry and refused to work properly for a moment, during which I could only move my lips and try to push sound out, any kind of sound.

"Mary." It was a pathetic attempt, but she had heard it, and she turned quickly, looking startled. She was beside me in an instant, looking so happy she could cry.

"Mister Stahr," she said, breathing a sigh of relief. "Welcome back."


End file.
